


Partners

by dbskyler



Category: Randall and Hopkirk (Deceased) (1969)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-24
Updated: 2009-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-05 04:58:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dbskyler/pseuds/dbskyler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeff knows how to handle Marty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Partners

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lakester](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lakester/gifts).



> As you may have guessed, I was not your originally assigned author, nor was I an assigned pinch-hitter. In fact, this piece wasn't written in response to your request -- it comes from a long, multi-chapter, unfinished and never-before-posted story that's been sitting on my hard drive for years. I'm sorry that I wasn't able to write you something fresh, but when I saw the late pinch-hit request I thought this piece of mine might serve, and so I hereby gift it to you. Randall and Hopkirk (Deceased) holds a very special place in my heart, as I think it does in yours, and I hope that although this isn't quite what you asked for, it nevertheless brings you happiness to read it.

No doubt about it, thought Marty, the absolute best place to watch a football match was from the broadcasters' booth. It was perfectly located for an overall view of the field, with a splendid line of sight to both goals, and it had room enough for him to move around without worrying about someone unknowingly walking through him — an unpleasant experience by itself, but particularly irritating during an exciting match, because when someone physically overlapped him, it obstructed his view. Also he was able to look over the commentator's shoulder and pick up all sorts of interesting tidbits about the players from the handwritten notes scattered on the table, the contents of which didn't always make it on the air.

But the best part of all about being in the booth was the fun he had yelling cheers for his team, insults against the other team and complaints about the referee (a time-honored tradition for any football fan), knowing that every word was picked up by the microphone and sent out into the airwaves, spreading across the whole of Great Britain. Of course almost no one could hear his words no matter how far they were transmitted, but the thought gave him pleasure just the same. He liked to imagine a confused psychic or two in the audience trying to listen to the match and wondering just where the unauthorized commentary was coming from.

"Go! Go!" he yelled suddenly, jumping to his feet. One of the forwards had spurted past the defenders and finally had a clear shot at the goal. "Quick, kick it now! Right now! The clock's about to run out!"

Marty leaned closer to the booth's glass as the opposing goalie crouched down, ready to defend against the shot. "Aim towards his left, he's weak on that side! No, no, his left, his left!" Marty groaned as the player sent the ball sailing in a straight high shot to the goalie's right. "That's it, you've messed it up, he'll get it easily, he's … GOAL!!"

Marty yelled with excitement, and other fans in the stadium roared with cheers that only grew louder when the referee called time a few seconds later. Marty transferred down to the field to get a closer look at the ball where it lay, then went up to the dejected goalie and shook his head with happy disbelief. "You should've got that, you know. I bet you feel like a right idiot. If it'd been to your left, you'd never have stood a chance."

Not surprisingly, the goalie ignored him completely, turned around and began to slowly walk off towards the locker rooms. Marty smiled at the man's unresponsive back. For some reason he couldn't explain, he still liked to interact with others, even when those others couldn't hold up their end of the interaction. At least he got to say things that he never could have said while he was alive, such as an insult to a football player who was taller than himself, weighed more and was looking to take his disappointment out on somebody.

Marty closed his eyes and jumped back to the booth for a better look at his team celebrating on the field. The commentator was wrapping up the broadcast, speaking calmly into the microphone in a professional, detached monotone.

" … with the last-minute goal by Rice providing a fitting end to a close match. This is Clive Pettigrew of BBC Sports …"

Marty couldn't resist. "And this is Marty Hopkirk," he said into the microphone right over Pettigrew, "of Randall and Hopkirk, Investigators."

"… broadcast next week," finished Pettigrew. "Thanks for listening."

"Thanks for listening," Marty said at precisely the same moment. He'd heard the man's sign-off so often now, he'd gotten the timing exactly right. Smiling at his joke, he took a last look down at the field then closed his eyes and went to go find Jeff.

____________________________

Jeff smiled and shook his head as he turned off the broadcast of the match. Leaning back on the couch, he began to count quietly to himself: one, two, three … He had reached five when he heard the expected sound of Marty's voice coming from behind him.

"Jeff! We won! We won!"

Jeff turned around just in time to see Marty disappear from view. With a resigned patience born of long practice, he searched for his partner's new location. Marty was now in front of the couch, pacing with excitement.

"You wouldn't believe it, Jeff! There was this last-minute goal …"

"I already know. And you're welcome."

"… it was toward the goalie's right, but he completely missed it …" Marty ground to a halt and gave him a confused look. "What do you mean, I'm welcome?"

Jeff got up and went over to the counter to pour himself a glass of whisky. "Your broadcast. You did thank me for listening."

Marty followed him. "You heard me, then?"

"Well, of course I did, Marty." Jeff turned to regard his partner acidly. "If I can hear you from beyond the grave, why shouldn't I hear you from Wembley Stadium?"

"Very funny." Marty gestured toward the stereo. "I meant you heard the broadcast. You had the radio on."

"And a good thing for you that I did. Otherwise whom would you have been broadcasting to?" He made a little toasting gesture, then went back to the couch, taking his glass and the bottle with him.

Marty gave him a put-upon look. "It's not that impossible that someone else could hear me, in all of Britain, is it? There are psychics … other ghosts …"

"No, you're right, Marty. And I'm sure there were any number of psychics and ghosts tuned in, hanging on to your every word."

"I admit it's a little unlikely …"

"'A little unlikely'?!"

Marty looked down at the floor and fidgeted uncomfortably. "All right, Jeff. All right. You've made your point."

Jeff leaned back and took a long swallow of his drink. "Mind you, I liked the plug. 'Randall and Hopkirk, Investigators.' What was that for, anyway? Expecting to drum up some business for us from all the psychics and ghosts out there who need a detective?"

"I said all right!" Marty glared at him, then crossed his arms and turned his back. "So I was making a fool of myself. You don't have to keep rubbing it in!"

Jeff felt a pang of remorse. It was fun to tease his partner, but he seemed to have struck a sensitive nerve. "Oh, come on, Marty. I was only joking."

The ghost gave him a single glance over the shoulder, then turned his back again.

"You sounded like you were having fun," Jeff offered.

Nothing. Marty just stood there, keeping his back to him. Jeff considered what to do. Marty didn't stand a chance at maintaining the silent treatment; all it would take was the right approach. "Was it a good match?" he asked.

It worked. Marty rounded on him in disbelief. "A good match? Are you serious? I thought you were listening on the radio — how would you describe it?"

"I couldn't tell you," said Jeff. "I tried to listen to the commentator, but _someone_ was talking over him the whole time, so I couldn't follow what was happening. In fact, all I'm really sure about is your opinion of the referee." He nodded his head at the space next to him. "If you think you can restrain yourself this time, want to sit down and give me the highlights?"

Marty gave him a look, then vanished. Jeff felt a quick stab of worry that he'd pushed his teasing too far, but then saw that his friend had moved to the couch and was sitting by his side.

"It was a great match, Jeff. Absolutely fantastic. Right off the start, Montana made this amazing pass …"

All of Marty's original excitement was back as he began to relate the details of the match. Jeff smiled to himself, then leaned back and settled in to listen.


End file.
